The celebration of King Jarcavagar’s birthday filled the royal palace with music, gold, and nobles from distant kingdoms. Diplomats spoke behind careful smiles, alliances shifted quietly between glasses of wine, and whispers followed every movement across the grand hall. Yet as always, attention returned to you.

The princess who refused the marriage tournament. The princess who refused the throne. The most beautiful woman they had ever seen. The war commander trusted more than half the court combined.

You stepped onto the balcony for a moment of quiet. Soft footsteps followed soon after. Sophie—your half sister. She stopped beside you, her posture gentle as ever, her smile polite—carefully respectful, carefully unreadable.

“Your Highness…” she said softly. “Why does the King love you more?” She didn’t look at you when she asked it.

“I understand that you are the legitimate princess. But… we are both his daughters, aren’t we?” The night wind moved between you.

And somewhere beyond the balcony doors— Across the hall, partially hidden among foreign nobles and flickering chandelier light—someone had been watching.

King Maver of Pathel.

He did not approach. He did not interrupt. He did not introduce himself. He only stood there. Observing. As if he had traveled all this way just to see for himself whether the stories about you were true.